Perspective
by zentner
Summary: Throughout the Elsior decisions are made, moments before the battle.
1. Hereafter

"Twenty minutes before the launch. All crew standby for direct contact."

Lester Cooldaras stood on the center of the bridge. Combat was about to start, and their plans were about to come to fruition. It was time to let the commander give the orders that would win the war. But before those orders, some detailed briefings on the attack formations should prove useful in the battle. He turned to his left, and found the commander's chair empty. A quick glance around the bridge confirmed Tact's absence.

An unpleasant feeling started sinking in the pits of his stomach. Here they were, disorganized and leaderless, in front of a Val-Fasc fleet bristling with more warships than they could count. The fact that Tact purposely stood on his blind side to get away did little to amuse him.

* * *

The hangar was crawling with engineers giving last minute tweaks and fixes to the Emblem Frames. Within minutes, Tact Meyers found himself lost in the crowd of people rushing around him. A couple of engineers gave him odd looks; too busy to bother asking _why the hell_ was he down in the hangar instead of being on the bridge, where he should be, giving orders. He did want to get back to the bridge as fast as possible, but there was something that he had to do before the first missile was fired. The large piles of scattered equipment were not helping at all; time was running out.

In desperation, Tact strained his eyes for any hint of the Emblem Frames, particularly the red ship that everybody else called the Kung-Fu Fighter. Luck must have been on his side on this particular day; its iron claws were undergoing some sort of maintenance check. A familiar redhead stood nearby, monitoring the process. Someone was talking to her, but he couldn't see too well. A few steps forward revealed that it was Ranpha. The two pilots were clearly worried, Ranpha even more so. Gone was the reckless enthusiasm she always had.

They were a mere five feet away, but Tact was found himself unable to take a step closer. He ran all the way here, hoping to be able to say _something_, a rousing speech perhaps... or at least make them smile. Now that he was right in front all the laser rifles and warheads, he felt weak.

Afraid.

Dozens of questions plagued his mind; questions that never bothered him before. Suddenly all their previous victories seemed so painfully small. Could they rely on him? They got this far in no small part to his commands, but did he have what it takes to protect the empire? To command them to victory and safety? To make sure that they could all survive to see the peace they all fought so hard for?

The questions piled up until a blank darkness strangled Tact's mind. One last thought pushed itself out.

Was he enough to make her happy?

It brought him back to his senses. Gradually, the distinct buzz of chrono string engines drowned out the darkness in his mind. Tact knew that he had to move. It was now or never.

It felt like an eternity, waiting for the right moment. A sudden buzz signaled that there were seven minutes left before the launch. With a deep breath, Tact steadied himself and made his way towards the two pilots.

Forte saw him first. She smiled and walked away quickly. Ranpha opened her mouth as if she had something to say, but no words came out.

For a moment, her eyes seemed distant, as if focused on something that only she could see. Tact looked into her eyes. He wanted to bridge the intangible distance that separated the both of them, even as they stood inches apart.

"Ranpha."

He reached out to grab her hand. She gasped in surprise, but stayed still. Her cheeks were starting to take on a reddish hue; Tact felt his face grow warm as well. For all her strength, Ranpha looked surprisingly delicate. But then she shook her head and all her embarrassment turned into anger.

"T-tact, you idiot! What are you doing here! The enemies are-"

Tact shut her up with a kiss... which worked surprisingly well. No roundhouse kicks or surprise chokeholds ensued.

"I believe in you."

Then he ran back to the bridge with the biggest smile plastered on his face. They were going to win.

Not because the enemies were at a disadvantage. Not because the Chrono Break Cannon was on the Elsior. Not because the entire Transbaal Navy was ready to back them up.

They were going to win because he had to see her smile again.

And Tact believed that she felt the same way he did.


	2. Duty

_'Twenty minutes before the launch. All hands standby for direct contact.'_

Forte Stollen walked briskly to the hangar, concentrated on the sound of her heels clacking against the floor. She thought they sounded like falling shotgun shells. It was a distraction that emptied her mind of things that had nothing to do with the upcoming battle. She arrived at the elevator in a mildly catatonic state, and promptly punched the down button. The elevator doors opened with a high purr.

The sight of yellow and red made Forte wince, but she hid her surprise with a tired smile. She stepped inside the elevator and leaned against the wall opposite Ranpha Franboise.

"You ready?"

"Of course."

The blonde pilot made a big show out of yawning, and stretched lazily. Her eyes did have a reddish tinge to them, as if she stayed up all night. Forte wanted to call her out on it, to tell her that she needed to take care of herself.

But she found herself distracted by the proximity of their hands. And a strange fragrance she couldn't put her finger on.

Forte moved her arms and shifted away, but Ranpha caught her hand. For a moment, the red-head froze, not knowing what to do. Her blue eyes shifted restlessly, unable to look at the person beside her.

"Forte, can I ask you something?"

"Y-yeah. Sure, what is it?" The words came out too fast, like a garbled message over the broken PA system.

"How do you stay so calm out there...like you're so sure...of winning."

The question sounded strange coming from the usually fiery Ranpha. Her voice betrayed a weakness that worried Forte.

She could hear the defeat that lay behind those words.

It was not something that could be blown to pieces with gunpowder, or beaten to a bloody pulp.

_'Damn it. Tact's better at this sort of stuff.'_

So Forte took a deep breath and prepared to give her friend one hell of a morale boost. It took every ounce of willpower to look straight into Ranpha's eyes without letting the embarrasment show on her face.

"There's something very important to me that I want to protect. Do you have anything like that?"

For a moment, it looked like Ranpha was about to punch her in the face. But then she started laughing. Hearing the respected leader of the Angel Troupe say something sappy just to make her feel better was a rare sight.

"...Yeah."

Although a little miffed that Ranpha laughed at her efforts, Forte couldn't help but smile.

"Then you can't lose."

With that, the doors finally opened, and they quietly walked to their ships. Forte decided to help Ranpha with a few maintenance checks, since she still looked a tad bit nervous.

Nervous, yes, but no longer the defeated wreck she was moments ago.

* * *

As the engineers performed a couple of last-minute checks on the Emblem Frames, the Angel Troupe readied themselves for the battle.

Amidst the buzz, hesitant footsteps resounded in the hangar. Forte turned towards the sound and saw Tact Meyers. She gave the commander a salute and walked briskly towards the Happy Trigger.

It was all up to him now. Making her happy was his job.

But protecting that happiness was hers.


	3. Animus

"Anything else?"

The words blinked on the console of the tea dispenser, waiting for customer input. Within minutes, a gloved hand pushed the red 'no' button. Three coins jingled out of the change slot.

"Thank you, come again."

Mint Blancmanche tapped the screen, the hint of a smile curving her lips.

"How polite."

She looked around the empty room and settled on a table by the door, gingerly balancing the hot cup on a saucer. The sharp scent of citrus tea steamed from the cup; an invigorating and mind-clearing scent bound to perk up even the weariest of minds.

Not hers though. The tea only helped to soothe her dry throat.

Even after thorough strategy meetings, the crew was still worried. To their credit, they kept their apprehensions hidden under brave smiles. Yet the telepath could hear their doubts loud and clear - so much so that the burden felt like a tangible weight.

But she couldn't blame them. They have done the math countless times and the numbers were clearly against their favor.

Mint took a quick sip of tea. Then another.

It was difficult to relax, knowing that with each second she spent sitting here, she could have used it to draft a better strategy.

Somehow the pepper shaker seemed reminiscent of the massive attack trajectories of the Val Fasc's sattelite drones. Within minutes she was thoroughly entrenched in the imaginary dogfight between the ketchup Elsior and a toothpick torpedo. On the table was an improvised diagram of their plan of attack.

Only when a child walked through the door did Mint blink in surprise.

"Your Highness!"

Empress Shiva froze. Then her eyes narrowed at the telepath.

"Yes... Good day, Blancmanche."

Mint watched in silence as the heir to the Transbaal kingdom fumbled with the vending machine. It seems that Shiva was unfamiliar with using small change - she kept trying to force a gold coin into the slot.

"I have some change." Mint drew towards Shiva.

Just as she opened her wallet, the sudden beep of the communicator jolted her heart into a near halt. Coins fell, some rolling under the tables.

_"It can't be... an ambush?"_

Her hand felt heavy as she pushed the communicator.

"Hey Mint, have you seen Shiva?" Tact's cheery voice buzzed from the device.

"Tact, you idiot!" didn't seem like proper words to say in the presence of royalty so Mint held her tongue. She consoled herself with the happy fact that there was no ambush. Yet.

"Actually I - "

At that, Shiva shook her head and made a strangled noise. There was no need for telepathy to interpret the surly scowl on her face as a very clear no.

"Mint? You there?"

"Oh, sorry. I don't know where she is."

"Oh well. Thanks anyway, Mint. I think she's hiding from me... Later then."

"You're wel- " The communicator's red glow dimmed.

With more force than neccesary, Shiva dropped her plate of cake onto a table and motioned Mint to sit with her. There was a heavy silence as the both of them looked around the room, waiting for the other to talk.

Finally, Shiva huffed and crossed her arms.

"Meyers wanted to discuss fail-safe measures with me."

Mint tried her best to look sympathetic. Fail-safe measures were her least favorite military procedure as it was very redundant; safety checks were often repeated five times or more depending on the complexity of a ship segment.

"Indeed. The booklet for lifepod operation is awfully tedious."

Her sympathy only served to deepen the scowl on Shiva's face.

"He seemed very interested in it." Shiva stabbed the cake. Strawbery filling oozed out of the torn slice.

"It is routine military procedure, Lady Shiva."

Something snapped inside the heir's mind - she thumped the table with a shaky fist.

"We don't need insurance... We have to win!"

Mint hesitated.

"I believe everybody on this ship wants to win. So does the empire and its citizens."

"Yet my safety seems to preoccupy their strategems."

It was not the first time that Shiva has let her emotions get the better of her...

But this was not rage.

Shiva was no longer the guileless child who knew nothing of war. She has seen Fargo fall and understood the price of defeat. And she could do nothing but watch, as everything around them dissolved in flames. It was in times like these, Mint thought, that it was easier to be a soldier. Out in the field, fighting, taking matters into your own hands. With each shot fired, victory seems treacherously close.

The king only has his orders to regret. In defeat, he will be burdened with fear for the fate of his country. In triumph, he will remember that his survival was made possible only at the cost of others.

Yet after all this he must always remember that the people need a leader.

"If I may be frank in saying so, you seem to have forgotten who you are."

It took Shiva an enormous effort to answer calmly.

"Remind me. This is the third time I have to watch my comrades... my friends... throw their lives away."

Shiva let her body go limp, as she said those words. She looked nothing like a queen; a sentimental girl sat in her place.

It was too much. Mint fought to keep calm but her voice rose with anger.

"_Nobody_ is throwing their lives away! Least of all... your friends."

They glared at each other, the anger in their eyes giving way to weary understanding.

As Mint got up to leave, Shiva caught her arm. Physical contact was not considered dignified behavior, but at that moment, Shiva was no noble. She was human: afraid and hopeful and alive.

"It is not the dead who suffer most... Promise me that you will remember what I have said, Mint Blancmanche."

"I promise."

A gruding smile lightens Shiva's face.

"I told Tact Meyers the same thing. He couldn't give me an answer."

Mint laughs softly.

"Our commander never was a good liar."

* * *

_'Twenty minutes before the launch. All hands standby for direct contact.'_

As the crew rushed to get ready, Mint chanced a last visit to the cafe for a quick cup of coffee - but decided against it when she saw Shiva, along with a few of the ship engineers, conducting an evacuation plan. The consequences of dealing with Shiva's hurt pride was not something to look forward to.

At last, the leader has understood her place. The fail-safe seems so useless now.


End file.
